think he had appalling taste in neckties,” Mitchell replied curtly, and walked away.
Olivia glanced at Caroline, who slowly shook her head, silently stating the obvious: Olivia had made a mistake by mentioning his mother and another mistake by trying to make Mitchell acknowledge his relationship to the men in the portraits.
Olivia watched him move from one painting to the next—a tall, broad-shouldered man who was looking at portraits of men who frequently resembled him so strongly that he had to feel as if he were looking in a mirror, a slightly blurry one at times, but a mirror nonetheless. Pride was causing him to deny the resemblance as well as his heritage, but as she studied him from across the room, she marveled at the futility of his effort. His forebears were tall, like he was, their bearing proud, their intellects extraordinary, their temperaments—uncertain. Just like his.
She thought of his criticism of the striped necktie her father-in-law had worn, and as she looked at Mitchell’s profile, amusement lifted her spirits a little. From the toes of Mitchell’s gleaming black Italian loafers to his custom-tailored charcoal suit and snowy white shirt to the impeccable cut of his thick black hair, Mitchell was—as all Wyatt men were—tastefully conservative and immaculately groomed.
However, three things she’d discovered about him while they looked at the portraits set him distinctly apart from his forebears: his dry sense of humor, his smooth urbane charm, and that smile of his. The combination was positively lethal—lethal enough to make even an old woman like her feel a little giddy. The Wyatt men were forceful and dynamic, but generally had little humor and even less charm. If they were Humphrey Bogarts, then Mitchell was Cary Grant, but with a hard jaw and chilly blue eyes.
will not take long,” Cecil said in an abrupt voice as he stalked into the room.
Olivia stiffened inwardly and watched her brother walk to his desk. It irritated her that Cecil was two years older than she but arthritis hadn’t bent his spine. down,” he ordered.
Mitchell walked over to Olivia and pulled a chair out for her; then he walked over to the corner of Cecil’s desk, shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and lifted his brows. said sit,” Cecil warned him.
An expression of icy amusement flicked across Mitchell’s eyes, and he looked around behind him.
are you looking for?” asked Cecil.
dog,” Mitchell replied.
Olivia stiffened and Caroline drew in a sharp breath. Cecil stared hard at him, his expression resentful . . . and then, almost respectful. you wish,” he said; then he switched his gaze to Olivia and Caroline. “I wanted the two of you present because I feel that I owe it to Mitchell to say this in front of the entire family, and as fate would have it, we are the only adults left in this family.”
Returning his gaze to Mitchell, he said, “Many years ago, pride and anger prompted me to do you a grave injustice, and I want to admit that now, in front of your aunt and your sister-in-law. My anger had nothing to do with you; it had to do with your father and the woman who was your mother. My son, Edward, was a womanizer, and I detested that in him. While his young wife was dying of cancer, he got another woman pregnant—your mother—and I could not forgive him for that. Nor could I overlook your mother’s total lack of scruples. She consorted with my faithless son, knowing full well his wife was dying, and she was so utterly lacking in common decency that it was beyond her to understand the insult it would have been to Edward’s dead wife had he married her and produced a child with her six months after his first wife’s death.”
Cecil stopped, and Olivia worriedly scrutinized Mitchell’s face, wondering how he felt hearing these ugly truths about both his parents, but he looked detached—as if he were listening to a slightly distasteful story that had nothing whatsoever to do with him. If Olivia hadn’t noticed the imperceptible tightening of his jaw, she’d have believed he was thoroughly bored.
Oblivious to such nuances of expression, Cecil said, I continue being blunt?”
, by all means,” Mitchell replied with mocking civility.
was disgusted—no—revolted by your parents’ behavior, but when your mother hired a sleazy lawyer to try to extort money from me and compel me to raise her bastard child as a Wyatt, my revulsion for her became loathing, and I would have done anything within my power to thwart her. Anything. Can you understand my feeling in this regard?”
.”
your mother had simply wanted money in order to raise her son and have a decent life, I could have understood that,” Cecil added, and for the first time, Olivia thought she saw surprise or some other emotion flicker across Mitchell’s enigmatic face. she hadn’t a grain of maternal feeling in her body. Money and ‘being around rich people’ were all that counted to her, and she figured that should be enough for her child, too.”
Cecil stood up. Olivia noticed he had to brace his hands on his desk, as if he felt weaker than he wanted to show. were the child of a spineless man without character or decency and a scheming, mercenary little slut. It never occurred to me that you could turn out well in view of all that, but I was wrong, Mitchell. Your Wyatt heritage came through strong and untainted. I loved your brother William, and he was a good father and husband, but he was soft and he had Edward’s lack of ambition. You, Mitchell, are a throwback to your Wyatt ancestors. I tossed you out into the world with nothing except an opportunity to educate yourself and make social contacts. You turned that into an impressive little financial empire in a decade. You inherited your ability to do this from your Wyatt ancestors. You may not have been raised as a Wyatt, but you are one.” Finished, Cecil looked at him expectantly.
Instead of sounding pleased, Mitchell sounded entertained. I supposed to regard that as a compliment?”
Cecil’s brows snapped together at the amusement in Mitchell’s voice; then a satisfied smiled lifted his thin lips up at the corners. course not. You’re a Wyatt, and we Wyatts do not seek, nor do we need, the approval of others.” As if he suddenly realized he had not softened the younger man up in the least, Cecil changed tactics. “Because you are a Wyatt, you will also understand how difficult it is for me to admit that my anger and pride caused me to make a disastrous error in judgment many years ago—an error for which you have paid your whole life. I don’t expect you to forgive me, because Wyatts do not settle for mere apologies for what is unforgivable, and I am already eighty years old, so there aren’t enough years left to me to atone. I, too, am a Wyatt, so I cannot ask for forgiveness I am not entitled to. I can only ask you for this—” The old man held out his hand, and it trembled slightly. you shake my hand?”